


Remembrance

by wings128



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom John, Christmas, First Kiss, First Time, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3108137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wings128/pseuds/wings128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Sateda the long nights of winter offer time to remember, to honour those lost. But Sateda is gone, and on Atlantis winter means Christmas - a time for festivities and making merry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JJ1564](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/gifts).



> Set within Ronon's first year on Atlantis - mid season two.

The revelry was nothing more than a trick of his hearing. A faint whisper that reminded him of a life he could no longer live. Customs and rituals gone with those he had lost too soon, before they had become important. Before he’d added them to his catalogue of days; years experienced and treasured by an old man past his prime, and surrounded by young ones who bore his likeness. 

Ronon would not be that elder. His people were lost to him, just as he was lost among strangers; a lone craft adrift on an ocean of grief. The pain of it weighed heavy. A burden no one should ever have to bear alone.

He closed his eyes against the truth etched deep within, heard the door slide open behind him, setting merriment and music free on the wind; and measured the thud of his heart to the steps of his CO’s silent tread. 

~♠~

“This seat taken?” John asked, a hint of amusement in the quirk of his lips, as he offered Ronon one of the two bottles hanging between his fingers. “McKay’s odes to commercialism aren’t for the faint-hearted.”

Ronon eyed Sheppard through the ropes of his hair and took the nearest bottle. The glass, cool against his palm.

“Great spot.”

Sheppard obviously needed to fill the silence with words, where Ronon had enjoyed the solitude. But somehow stilted conversation with his messy-haired commander was a comfort he’d come to depend on. It anchored Ronon in a way he hadn’t expected to feel again. Melena had done that for him, when he struggled to settle his mind to Kell’s command.

“It is now.” Ronon smirked, answering Sheppard’s original question.

He could see Sheppard thinking a logic for his words; saw the moment they clicked and the man’s lush lips pulled at the corner. Ronon wanted to-

“Mmmph”

Sheppard’s lips were as soft as they looked. Tasted of ale and something sweet – chocolate. Ronon didn’t have time to analyse further, because Sheppard pulled back; splayed a hand on Ronon’s torso – holding him at bay while Sheppard’s own chest heaved in…surprise.

“Hey, buddy,” Ronon thrilled at the deep rasp coating Sheppard’s words. “Where’d that come from?”

Ronon huffed an amused breath. So McKay’s protestations carried truth. Their team leader did not see attraction when it was directed at him. Least not until someone acted on it. Ronon was yet to decide if it was a manufactured defence, or simply who Sheppard was. Either way it worked on Ronon like a Choir Bird to fire nectar.

John’s blood sizzled in his veins. Their lips had been the only part of them to touch, and yet his whole body shouted for more of Ronon. The scratch of stubble still burned around his mouth, and his stomach was both light and heavy. Yeah, John could kiss Ronon again. And more. But something else was going on here. And it was John’s responsibility to find out what it was. To be there for his team.

He’d noticed Ronon was uncomfortable amongst the festivities, had watched from afar and seen how the big guy held himself close when hugged by anyone; seen his refusal of food and eggnog. John couldn’t blame him. Even the bottle of brandy added to the re-hydrated powder couldn’t make Nog-in-a-Box drinkable. Then John’d been cornered by a very merry Cadman and hadn’t seen Ronon leave.

John was noticing Ronon now though. His hand was still on the other man’s chest, warmth seeping into John’s palm from beneath soft linen. His thumb stroked without permission and John felt Ronon’s heart kick an extra beat. He stroked again; this time with intent, and dragged his eyes up to meet wide brown ones. That simple connection, all that was needed to scorch the air between them.

‘Had this been Ronon’s evil plan? Lure him out here and…and…’

John didn’t give a shit; Ronon was leaning in, ignoring the pressure of John’s hand, and kissing him again. Large hands holding him tight, fingertips behind his ears, stroking as Ronon came too close to see.

“Ronon?” John full-on groaned as Ronon laid him back, down on the pier and pressed himself over John’s length; lips hot and wanting.

He heard his bottle grate over the concrete, roll and plop in the ocean. But all John cared about was the slide of Ronon’s tongue seeking entry into his mouth.

~♠~

“So that was your plan?” John teased, a while later. Ronon’s bottle shuttling back and forth between them. Fingertips shy as they brushed in the transaction.

“No.”

“Really?” John smirked, gaze fixed on the freckle riding Ronon’s cheekbone. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Ronon felt his shoulders tighten as he searched for the words to make this…alien?...understand.

“With the cold comes withdrawal to store warmth.” Ronon could see Sheppard didn’t get it, but knew the other man was listening. Had the will to understand. “The long nights offer time to remember, to honour those lost. Those who cannot sit at Council, cannot share a drink.”

Ronon held up the near empty bottle in offering and watched as Sheppard’s fingers wrapped around his own; pulled so that when he drank, Ronon felt Sheppard’s lips on his skin. Truly a drink shared, and he knew Sheppard understood.

“His name was Hemi. My warrior brother.”

John watched Ronon carefully. He didn’t recognise the term, but the meaning was clear enough. He wondered if same sex couples were legal in the Satedan military, or if Ronon had had to hide like John did. Whether this, Hemi, had been the one to make the first move, or had Ronon?

“He was like you, Sheppard.” Ronon confessed, a quiet fear slinking cool over his skin.

John looked up from their joined hands and saw Ronon’s caution. “Oh, yeah?”

Ronon smirked, couldn’t help it in the face of Sheppard’s playfulness. And that was it right there, no physical resemblance beyond that of ingrained military, but Hemi’s mischief was there; hiding in Sheppard’s eyes. Just as Sheppard’s thrill-seeking and honour had been in Hemi’s. 

“Yes,” Ronon agreed, Sheppard’s eager curiosity coaxing Ronon’s mood to lighten. “Neither of you possess any sense of direction.”

John rolled his eyes and felt the fist in his gut loosen. He never saw it coming, that was true; but he’d rather be wanted for himself, than the echo of another.

John was the first to lean in that time. And last to pull back when the slide of a door heralded unwelcome company.

“Better go make an appearance.” John nodded towards the city behind them, his lips barely a breath from the mouth he wasn’t done exploring.

Ronon was on his feet and offering a hand before John had finished forming the thought.

~♠~

It was Christmas morning. Four days after their first kiss, when John found himself standing in the deserted hallway outside Ronon’s quarters. Everything had been business as usual, but here John was, shifting from booted foot to booted foot and rubbing a palm across the back of his neck. The other gripped tightly round a small red box.

He’d better do this now; before someone stepped out of the transporter and busted him.

John waved his palm over the panel before he could change his mind, heard the muted chime and a deep rumble from within. He couldn’t deny how his heart jumped at the sound.

Ronon called out a sleepy mumble as he rolled from his bed and into his leggings, before taking the three steps to his door. By the Ancestors this had better be important. It was early for him, which meant it was still yesterday for the Lanteans – even Sheppard.

“Hey.”

“You want to run?” Ronon asked, tried not to show his pleasure as he flicked his hair over his shoulder, and missed covering a yawn.

“Sorry, buddy,” John chuckled, all nerves gone at seeing Ronon sleep-rumpled, “thought you’d be up.”

Ronon waved Sheppard in, caught the next yawn in his palm then stretched his arms above his head to feel the pleasant pull of waking muscles.

John felt his dick swell at the sight of Ronon’s stomach bared by the lift of linen. He swallowed hard and dragged his gaze up that long muscular chest; only to fall into warm pools of molten brown.

“Didn’t think _you_ would be.” Ronon teased, arms loose at his sides, eyes locked on Sheppard’s. ‘Were they always that green in the morning?’ Ronon hadn’t noticed.

“Ah, yeah,” John stumbled, now it’d come to this he had no clue. “Wanted to give you this. It’s Christmas, and I, I thought…”

Ronon stepped close, too close maybe. Sheppard seemed on the edge of fleeing. “What is it?”

“A gift.” John smirked, only to feel his mouth fall into a soft O at Ronon’s touch. A soft whisper on his wrist, as Ronon took the box from him. ‘The last-minute silver bow seemed ridiculous now.’

“Thank you, Sheppard.” Ronon croaked, throat suddenly dry.

“John.” John offered, eyes fixed on how tiny his gift looked in Ronon’s huge hand. He just hoped his impulsiveness didn’t blow up in both their faces, and leave whatever this was between them as bloodied shrapnel.

“’S’okay to open it,” John murmured an eternity later when Ronon hadn’t moved; the gift box still on his palm. Maybe Ronon thought it would explode too. “’S’not a bomb.”

Ronon nodded on a nervous rumble and backed up till the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sat without checking, all his attention on Sh-John’s gift. John’s gift, for him. 

The silver fancy came free easily, leaving only the red sheen of the tiny box, concealing whatever lay inside. Ronon could hear how John held his breath, only to force it out in harsh gasps; body paused for flight. Despite its size Ronon knew this was something big. Something of great meaning and worth. He wanted to lengthen time, and paint this moment in bright colour within the pages of his memories. But John was in pain with the waiting.

‘Would Ronon hurry the hell up already?!’ John’s heart thudded in his chest and his palms were sweaty. The urge to snatch and run almost winning as he waited. And then Ronon was looking at him, face showing and discarding too many emotions for John to name.

“John?”

‘Fuck, the sound of his name from Ronon’s mouth!’

“Dogtags.” John answered, and rolled his eyes – because, duh!

He sat uninvited, next to Ronon, the mattress dipping him into the bigger man’s side. The contact burning through black cotton to pale skin beneath, and making John sway in pleasure. In memory.

“Thank you.” Ronon murmured, his free hand stroking slowly down the length of John’s arm.

John didn’t offer an objection when Ronon’s fingers slipped into the neck of his tee; their rasp gentle on his throat, in their search for his own tags. Knuckles grazing under his chin as the chain was pulled free. He held himself still, only his dick moved – grew hard and eager in his BDUs - at the sight of his tags lying in Ronon’s palm. Symbols of who John was. Held with such reverence in another’s care. 

“Yours are different.”

The thrum of Ronon’s voice clouded John’s mind in want, made thinking, let alone talking impossible.

“Black one’s for Hemi,” John shifted his eyes up to meet Ronon’s and fell headlong into their depths. “Sil-silver’s for y-you.”

Ronon rubbed his thumb gently over the raised Satedan lettering of Hemi’s memorial.

“Teyla helped with the glyphs.” John whispered, hesitant to spoil the moment, yet worried he’d got it wrong. “Is it right?”

Ronon’s answer was to shape John’s lips with the pad of his thumb; felt the wet tip of John’s tongue when he opened to the touch.

“All is as it should be.”

Ronon was kissing him and John was falling. Heat surging through his entire body as Ronon’s full weight pressed him into the mattress. Morning stubble, soft lips, and skilled tongue conquering any protest he wouldn’t’ve made.

“Mmmmm…Ronon…” John blushed, felt Ronon chase the colour with his fingertips, and swept his eyes closed.

“Look at me John.”

John obeyed, and yeah, he was gone for this guy. Young, yet older than John in so many ways. Suffered and survived things John had no comparison for. John couldn’t fathom why Ronon would want him, when he had so many less damaged options. Anyone, man or woman, would’ve taken up the offer of Ronon in a heartbeat. But here John was, with the prize under his own hands, and looking back at him as if Ronon was the lucky one.

“Will you put them on me?”

John swallowed hard and nodded; reached for the tags gripped tight in Ronon’s fist. Ronon’s question sounding for all the world like a proposal John would always accept.

There was no way a standard issue chain was going over all that hair, and John’d ordered the extra length with a grin. A grin he couldn’t hide now as Ronon tugged his dreads free, allowing the chain to rest on his honey-smooth skin.

“For Hemi, and for you.” John murmured into Ronon’s mouth, fingers touching first black then silver in benediction.

Ronon lunged, crushed their mouths and chests together. Cut of rubber edging and tangled chains a sweet pain between them. John pushed up, hips eager to feel all of Ronon. He groaned, Ronon’s cock as hard as his own, and just as imprisoned behind worn leather.

“Ronon, _god,_ Ronon!”

“John?”

The amusement in Ronon’s tone had John blushing again, only he didn’t care, hands clumsy in their haste to strip the younger man bare. He had to get his hands on that ass, that cock. ‘Oh _damn,_ that cock! If Ronon was proportional…’

John growled and Ronon nipped his jaw before pulling off. Stood over John like some legendary god of war and fornication. Each inch of glorious golden skin revealed with each discarded item of clothing.

Yeah, John was the luckiest sonovabitch in two galaxies. More.

“Off!” Ronon growled, naked except for his tags.

And fuck, the guy was proportional, alright. John yanked his tee over his head in time to see Ronon’s eyes widen, pupils darker than before, at the sight of John’s bare chest. His tags nestled on dark hair, between hard eager nubs. It was beyond flattering, and his ego couldn’t help a little self-preening.

Ronon raised an eyebrow, the simple arc easing the tension and the small room filled with their easy laughter. John lowered his hands to his belt, gasped when Ronon sank to his knees; his mind tripping over itself with the possibilities, only to feel hands unlacing his boots.

He huffed in amusement and lifted his hips to rid himself of what was left of his uniform. Ronon could always be relied upon to remember important details.

“Get up here.” John groused, the moment Ronon tugged him free. Up on his elbows only to be pushed flat by Ronon obeying the order. Kissing. “Fuck, Ronon, _so good.”_

“Better soon.” Ronon teased, rolled his hips down into John’s and stole his CO’s breath in the slide of their cocks; shared precome and sweat ready to assist.

John spread his thighs, and Ronon settled between, tight and hard. So perfect a fit that John had to hold him there, never let him go.

Ronon tested the leg lock John had on his hips, spiraled back down and crushed their tender balls together. This was going to be so fucking good. Better than any dream-fuelled solitary fist fuck.

“Want you.” He growled; was pleased by John’s whimper; the way his colonel arched his neck in welcome. “And I will have you, John.”

John melted, he goddamn melted! Never had a lover commanded John’s body like Ronon did. He may be older, a Colonel, used to having men under him; but being under Ronon… It was the only place John ever wanted to be. “Top drawer?”

~♠~

_“Arrhnnggghh!”_

Ronon’s fingers slid deep, two, side by side, a double pronged attack that stroked sparks and chills along all John’s nerves; right up under his balls. So fucking _good!_ He pushed down, asking for more the only way he was capable, all speech stolen in the tight pull of Ronon’s fist around John’s cock. He couldn’t take much more of this without coming his brains out, and that wasn’t how John wanted this to end – at least not yet.

“Ronon. Enough. _Fuck!”_ John panted on the edge. A word for each ragged breath as he wriggled, skewered and helpless, on the end of those long talented fingers. “Need. You. Now.” 

Ronon rose up over John like a cresting wave; pulled free and left John whimpering at the loss. Only to push in his monster of a cock, bare and oiled, in their stead. John arched to meet the longed-for invasion, thighs high on his lover’s flanks and offering it up with embarrassing need.

“Higher.” Ronon growled into the scent of sweat slick neck; was satisfied when John obeyed and crossed his ankles between Ronon’s shoulder blades. His lover doubled in half, clutching and releasing in sweet sweet need along Ronon’s length. Each thrust driving him home, claiming this man as John held him tight and laid his own marks with lips and teeth. Right into Ronon’s flesh.

John gripped ropey dreads and hung on. Nothing to do but lie back and take everything Ronon was giving him. Feel the flex of bicep under palm. The grinding tease of friction on his neglected cock, just shy of enough; the wordless bliss of Ronon filling him, over and over, shunting his ass further across the bed. Shifting the target; keeping Ronon’s aim true.

“C’mere.” He begged, Ronon’s mouth instantly in kissing range, his hips ceaseless in their increasingly ragged rhythm.

Less of a kiss and more of an urgent taste, desperation united in hunger. And yeah, John was there, pushed clear into oblivion, caught in pulsing pleasure between hot mouth and rigid driving cock. Speared in place and writhing, nowhere to go but headlong into bliss. His heart thudding in time with his cock’s creamy-hot jets. Ronon’s final thrust and grind bearing him down, his lover’s release a welcome echo to his own, as it filled him; deep where only Ronon had ever reached. Where only Ronon would ever be.

~♠~

“Not yet.” John pleaded, whisper soft when Ronon made to pull free.

He felt his young lover press deeper, place a kiss in two places at once. Warm breath a shiver on his closed eyelids as Ronon rolled and settled them. John lay lax, and full, and blanket-like across a broad chest, the reassuring thud of Ronon’s heart beneath his cheek, and long fingers tugging playfully through his hair. 

“Merry Christmas, Ronon.” John smiled sleepily as he felt the weight of Ronon’s arms shift to hold him close.

“Merry Christmas, John.”


End file.
